Coffee Shop Chats
by R.F. Leed
Summary: For a place you've always claimed to have overpriced coffee, you can't deny that it makes for a pretty good place to talk.


Coffee Shop Chats  
>01: Progress<p>

AN: A series of one shots set in somewhere in my _You Are In Love_ universe, whose upcoming chapters are getting a bit of an upheaval.

* * *

><p>You've been coming here for the better part of three years now, and the quaint (for a mainstream coffee place) shop has become almost like a second home to you. You know of Mrs. Potts and her endearing—though sometimes overbearing—ways, of Lumiere's need to flirt with the older patrons, and of the way that Eric occasionally doubles as live entertainment on his shift. The table in the back seems to be permanently reserved for you, and you have no doubt that Mrs. Potts has something to do with it always being clear—the same way that you have no doubt that she's also the reason why the staff always have dog treats on hand for Sven.<p>

You and Anna decided to meet here to catch up since you haven't seen each other much lately—in fact, she was the one who texted you because of an emergency, and even though you're well acquainted with her habit of overanalyzing things, you also know that it's out of character for her to send such a short text.

She didn't even say a word on the way over.

Anna automatically commandeers the table in the back after she pats your arm and says that she trusts you not to screw up her order, but that's not really on you because Mrs. Potts knows what you two want as soon as you step inside.

Bless her kind soul.

She glances over at Anna and quirks a knowing eyebrow at you while she steams the milk for your lattes. You only shrug, and it's enough of an answer for her because she rolls her eyes (much like your mother does) and moves on.

"It's awful cold out there, dear," she begins. "I worry about you two walking in this dreadful weather."

"It's not a far walk from campus," you assure her with a smile. "We've been needing to get some air anyway."

Mrs. Potts _tsk_s a few times and shakes her head. She's well aware of the habits of university students by now, and you're well aware of the lecture she's going to go on. "Studies are important, but you're still so _young!_ Being cooped up won't do you any good, you know, please do remind Elsa that. I haven't seen her in days, and that girl _knows _what she does to this old woman's heart when she disappears for too long."

You chuckle. "I'll be sure to tell her, Mrs. Potts."

"They've been getting awful close, haven't they?" Mrs. Potts is positively beaming at Anna, who's too busy rubbing her hands together for warmth to notice. You brought a pair of spare mittens for her knowing she'd forget hers. "It's wonderful to see them together. I've never seen Elsa look so radiant. And Anna, too! What a lovely pair."

You're getting the sneaking suspicion that she knows more than you do, but you shrug to yourself and thank her for the warm drinks. She reminds you to tell her when you two are going to leave so that she can make you drinks for the way home—on the house because she wouldn't want two of her favorite patrons freezing outside—and you thank her again. You know better than to argue with her, and you've learned to take her acts of kindness the same way that you take your mother's.

"So," you say when you reach your table and set Anna's drink down in front of her. You place your own down so you can tuck your card into its place in your wallet. "What's the emergency?"

Anna's eyes go from her drink, to your eyes, and then to the gold card stamped with your name on it, and you almost curse. _You_ know you've been coming here for three years, but _she_ still thinks that it's a recent development. In truth, you know that's your fault for not telling her every detail of what's happened since you started college almost four years ago.

"Is that a Starbucks card?"

You feel your face get warm, and you jam your wallet a little bit too harshly into your chest pocket. "That wasn't the question I asked."

She digs her own out of her pocket and opens it up. "You got your own card? I'm so _proud_ of you! What did you get?"

You sink down into your seat and almost tell her _the usual_, but you know she'll tease you further about having _a usual_ at a place you once claimed to hate, so you grumble instead, "White mocha with two pumps caramel."

"And me?"

"Just a mocha latte. Extra foam, just like you like."

She leans back in her seat, crosses her arms, and levels you with a smug smirk. Her foot brushes against your shin as she moves to sit with one of her knees over the other, and you have a fleeting thought that it's more of an Elsa thing than an Anna thing. "And you told me you were content with gas station coffee."

You rarely have gas station coffee anymore, but you're not about to tell her that. "This isn't about me."

"Why not? We should make it about you. We haven't spoken in a week, and I just want to make sure you haven't turned into an axe-wielding serial killer."

The nonchalant expression that her face has morphed into wavers just the tiniest bit, and you raise an eyebrow at her. You rest your chin on a fist and shrug.

"I'm not an axe-wielding serial killer."

"That's what an axe-wielding serial killer _would_ say."

A frown tugs at your lips. "You know, you're the one who called me here in the first place, and now you're accusing me of killing people. I had to put Sven's second walk on hold for this."

"You could have brought him with us," she shrugs. "Mrs. Potts loves him."

When you only respond by leveling her with an even higher eyebrow and a deeper frown, she heaves out a sigh. It's such a heavy sigh that you momentarily worry that her shoulders will fall off, but your worries are replaced by bigger ones when Anna slumps down in her seat and rests her forehead on her folded arms.

When _she_ doesn't speak, your stomach drops. Obviously you don't know what's wrong, but it only spurs your mind into jumping to conclusions. Is she dropping out? Going home? Is it too much pressure for her? Has she lost her scholarship? Is she...

"Are you _dying?_"

You don't even realize that you leaned so far into the table that your weight against it pushed it an inch closer to her. You also don't realize that your voice dropped into a hoarse whisper, that your eyes grew so wide that they could fall out of their sockets, and that your eyebrows were so high on your head that they disappeared into your hairline—until Anna shoots up in her seat and stares at you, her eyes just as wide as yours, and her jaw flapping.

And in half a second, Anna's face goes from incredulous to indignant. Her eyes narrow, her eyebrows scrunch into a point, and she reaches up to tear her hat from her head. You don't even get a chance to wonder why because it hits you square in the face. While it blocks your sight, there's a hand colliding with your shoulder, and you're effectively yanked out of your stupor.

"Are you _stupid?_" she hisses. Anna's the one leaning across the table now, and you fall back into your chair while you rub both your hands over your face. "God, what kind of question is that, Kristoff? _'Are you dying?'_"

"You can't be dying if you can still hit me that hard," you muse, but you won't deny that it's a weight off your chest anyway. "This is what happens when you tell me there's an emergency, but then don't actually _tell me __what the emergency is__._"

She leans back with another sigh. "Okay, but you can't tell anybody, okay? You promise?"

"Scout's honor."

Her eyes dart around, as if there were people listening in. Well, you shrug inwardly, there probably _were_ people listening in—Mrs. Potts and Lumiere, most likely, but you know they won't do anything with what they learn except gossip to themselves.

"I..."

You nod in what you hope is an encouraging manner. "You...?"

"I think I..." she huffs, shakes her head, and then clenches her eyes shut so tightly that you wonder if it hurts to do that. "I think I might be in love with Elsa."

It comes out so fast and so tumbled together that you have to shake your head to make sense of it. "What?"

She gasps like she's waking up from the dead, clutching at her chest with her hands. "I think I might be in love with Elsa. But you can't tell anyone, okay?" She's still talking a mile an hour. "Especially her. You can't tell her, okay, Kristoff? You can't! I've only just proven to her that I'm not some weirdo, and it'll probably terrify her if she finds out that I'm _in love_ with her, so you can't say anything! You know what? Don't even _talk_ to her. Don't even make eye contact because I_ swear _she can read my mind sometimes, and if she can read mine then I bet she can read yours, so you have to stay away from her at all costs!"

Anna's managed to grab hold of your arm and is shaking you in time with her words. You have to yank it away from her, and she chugs the rest of her drink while she's waiting for your response.

You mask your disbelief—partly because she thinks she's in love _again_ and partly because did she only _just_ realize she has feelings for Elsa?

"Is this..." You pause to search for the words. "Is this _in love _like you were in love with your ex-boyfriends?"

She sputters. "Well—I mean, _no_, not like them because this is—this is different."

"Different how?" You'd be the first to admit that she has a habit of jumping into things, and you really would hate if your recently reunited trio was broken up again.

"I mean, she... I feel good around her. Like, I get butterflies. And she's really pretty. Beautiful. Like, her face is _perfect._"

"The others gave you butterflies, too," you point out. "The others made you feel special, and they made you feel better about yourself. You told me that you were in love with each and every one of them, and you only knew them for a few months each."

She deflates a little bit, and you almost feel bad, but you could write a book based on Anna's dating mistakes. You've been there each and every time she got her heart broken, each and every time a new guy came along and swept her off her feet, and each and every time she got in too far too soon. You'll be damned if you let it happen with this one.

"Kristoff, I—"

"You two only just met," you say gently. You push your drink towards her when she realizes hers is empty, and she sends you a small smile. "You told me you guys were starting over, right? Getting to know each other as adults?"

She nods, so you press on.

"Well, maybe you should call this a crush?" When she opens her mouth, you raise your hand to stop her. "Like, yeah, you're probably better off with her than the others 'cause she's not a jerk and you've known each other for, like, forever anyway. But you've been talking for, what, two months? Three?"

"It's longer than what I've known the other guys for," she grumbles into your coffee. "And it's different with her, I swear. She's... she's something else. You know she lent me her jacket the other day? It was really cold out, and I forgot mine in Weselton's class. I still have to give it back to her, but she was like, _no, it's fine, I'm heading back to my apartment anyway._" Anna sighs, and you watch her tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, and then as she rests her chin on her palm. "None of the other ones did that. They were nice, but..."

"But?" You know the answer to your own question, but you've been trying to get her to realize that a lot of the people she'd dated before were jerks. You've been trying to prove to her that she's worth more than _nice. _Maybe this was the way to show her that she deserved more than that.

"But... I don't know. They never paid any attention, I guess. And Elsa, well, she_ pays attention_. We went out for lunch the other day, and she remembered what my favorite type of chocolate is. The milk chocolate squares with the caramel in side—you know this, Kristoff, I know you've got a stash in your pantry—and we split a bar of it. She even asked me how my class was."

You can't help the smile growing on your face.

"It's a step up from the last guy that thought for a month that your name was Emma."

"God, I know, right?" she scoffs, and you both share a small laugh at it. "That's the reason why he was only there for a month."

"But he was a step down from the girl that cheated off your calculus tests and still crapped on you for being smart." You sneer. That girl broke up with Anna right before she was about to, all because you were Anna's best friend and she caught you two stealing sips out of each other's milkshakes one afternoon.

"_Anyone who can't accept you as my best friend," _Anna had said that evening, _"isn't worth a lick of my time."_

"Ugh, don't remind me," Anna grouses and rolls her eyes. She leans back in her chair, tosses an arm over its backrest, and kicks her feet—thankfully her boots are dry now, and that these jeans need to be laundered anyway—up into your lap. "Did I ever tell you she accused me of cheating because I fell asleep at your place one weekend?"

You roll your own eyes. "Did she?"

"Yeah," she snorts. "Like I'd ever cheat on anyone with your ugly mug."

You let it sit in silence for a little while. Mrs. Potts is full of energy as she wipes down her countertops, and Lumiere is the same as he mops the floors. You wonder if, maybe, this really could be Anna's chance. How many people ended up with their childhood best friends again? Enough of a number for it to be plausible, you figure, and with people like Elsa and Anna, surely the odds would be with them.

But then you also know how much Elsa has changed and how much she hasn't, and you're well aware of how much Anna has changed—and how much she still needs to learn. You don't want their budding friendship wrecked, and you sure as hell don't want your reunited trio split apart again because it was great to be able to have it back.

"Did you like her when we were kids?" you wonder out loud.

Anna's eyebrows scrunch together, and she looks skyward. "Only as a friend," she shrugs. "We were really young, and she was my best friend."

She stares at the table, and you stare at her. "I think she loved you," you say finally. "She took a lot for you."

"Don't I know it," Anna chuckles, and then softly says, "I don't think I understood it then."

_I don't think you understand now,_ is what you want to say, but you bite your tongue. That's something she needs to learn on her own, and maybe Elsa will be the one to teach her. In your three years of getting to know the adult Elsa, you know that if there's anybody you'd trust with your life—and more importantly, Anna's heart—it's her.

You remember the nights spent in Elsa's apartment, picking her brain about your childhood, asking her what had happened, and how much she remembered. You remember slowly coaxing her out of her shell and filling the role of the young boy that happily played the mediator between some of her and Anna's more explosive arguments, and once more filling the role of the support that you knew she didn't have.

You haven't told Anna about it all yet. You figure that she and Elsa would talk about it when the time called for it—when they knew more about each other, when they let each other in, and when they were able to understand.

You don't doubt Elsa's devotion. You doubt her ability to let her guard down and let Anna in past the shallow friendship that they're building up. The same way that you don't doubt Anna's intensity in all that she feels, but you do know that she's more of a _shoot now, ask questions later _type, and you don't know how well Elsa will be able to handle it.

So maybe, you realize, Anna's reluctance in telling Elsa how she feels is a start. Maybe Anna won't go in head first like she did with all of her past relationships because this time... this time she has something to lose. And you know as much as Anna does that she's one for the big gestures—she goes all out for your birthday surprises every year, and there sure as hell isn't anything that she does halfway—but maybe Elsa will force her to consider otherwise. Maybe Elsa will help her understand what you've been trying to say all along.

They'll help each other. They'll be good for each other.

"So you've got a crush on Elsa," you say. You smile at the way Anna's wide eyes snap to yours. "It's not like anything's changed."

"Not like—not like anything's _changed?_" she sputters. "Kristoff, I have a _crush on Elsa! _It's a big deal!"

"Yeah?" you shrug. "You don't have to tell her that right now."

She bites her lip. "I'm too scared to tell her."

"Good," you shrug again and steal back a sip of your drink. "Don't tell her and wait it out. Keep getting to know her, y'know?"

"And then what? Tell her I'm in love with her and watch her run for the hills?"

"_I'd _run for the hills if you told me you were in love with me." But you smile, and the frustrated expression slips off her face. "Nothing has to change. There's no need to ask her out or shout how much you like her off the top of North Mountain. See if your crush gets anywhere, and tell her if it does."

"Like it's that simple," she grumbles.

"It can be," you say.

You know that it won't be—it _is _Anna and Elsa after all, and even their plans to steal cookies out of the jar were convoluted and unnecessarily complex—but there's a part of you that hopes that this chat between you and Anna is progress. And you hope that Anna, slouched over and laying on the table, is learning about taking things slow.

She has a lot more at stake now than she did with strangers in high school, and maybe she'll even take your advice to heart.

If not, you're ready with a loaded Starbucks card and a stash of her favorite chocolate.


End file.
